


fire meets gasoline

by kaatiekinss



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Adult AU Varchie, Angst, Death, F/F, F/M, Firefighter AU, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Past Domestic Violence, Past Drug Addiction, Romance, Smut, Varchie!Centric, not a slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaatiekinss/pseuds/kaatiekinss
Summary: Park Avenue Princess meets All-American Golden Boy. Cue the sparks.La première fois que tu m'as touché, mon âme a soupiré de contentement.The first time you touched me, my soul sighed in contentment.currently on indefinite hiatus.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Cheryl Blossom/Toni Topaz, Chuck Clayton/Josie McCoy, Katy Keene/K.O. Kelly, Kevin Keller/Moose Mason, Midge Klump/Reggie Mantle, Polly Cooper/Sweet Pea
Comments: 40
Kudos: 41
Collections: #1 varchiedale ficathon





	1. to burn, to smoke, to smolder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [veronicaluna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronicaluna/gifts).
  * Inspired by [love and loyalties](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979100) by [monicaposh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monicaposh/pseuds/monicaposh). 



> _It's dangerous to fall in love, but I  
>  Wanna burn with you tonight, hurt me  
> There's two of us, we're certain with desire  
> The pleasure's pain and fire, burn me_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica and Archie see each other for the first time. Sparks fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Some say the world will end in fire,  
>  Some say in ice.  
> From what I've tasted of desire  
> I hold with those who favor fire.  
> But if it had to perish twice,  
> I think I know enough of hate  
> To say that for destruction ice is also great  
> And would suffice.  
> -Robert Frost, Fire and Ice_

"And if you'll just sign here, Miss Lodge." 

The fountain pen feels heavy in her fingers as she presses it to the paper and writes her signature. It shouldn't hurt so much to sign her name with a flourish at the bottom of the notarized page, but it does. 

_Veronica Cecilia Lodge._

She pops the cap back on, lays the pen down on top of the stack of papers, slides it back across the table, and that's it. 

She is now the president and CEO of Lodge Industries and owner of all its properties, savings, and assets. 

She's imagined this very moment since she was a little girl dressing up in her mother's pearls. She's been waiting for the glorious day when her father stepped down, and she stepped up to take over the family business for her entire life. But instead of all-consuming joy, all Veronica feels is hollow acceptance. And she can't really call it a family business anymore anyways, not when her family is dead. 

“Is that it then?” 

“In regards to Lodge Industries, yes,” Mr. Burke, the company’s lead attorney says, standing up and leaving without so much as a condolence or acknowledgment. He doesn’t even shake her hand. 

“However, there’s still the matter of sorting through your parent’s things…” Mr. Meyers, her parents' attorney, and old friend says. Veronica ignores him, knowing exactly what he wants to talk about. 

She’s in no state to worry about that today. It can wait. 

“Unfortunately, Mr. Meyers, I have a funeral to attend this afternoon. But I’ll have my assistant call you when I’m able to set aside some time.” She’s already standing so that Andre can help her into her coat. 

“Miss Lodge, before you go--” Mr. Meyers is wringing his hands and mopping his sweaty brow with his handkerchief. Veronica does have somewhere to be, but the poor gentleman looks like he might faint dead away. 

“What is it, Mr. Meyers?” She asks as she buttons herself in and knots the tie at her waist. Andre passes her handbag. 

“It’s important to sort through your parent’s affairs as soon as possible.” She sighs. 

“I understand. As I said, I’ll have my assistant call you to arrange a meeting as soon as I’m available.” 

The older man nods and reaches out his hand for her to shake. Veronica hesitates. There's something so final about a handshake, particularly this one. Her parents have been in the ground for three months, but right now is when the full force of their loss finally hits her. 

Her parents are gone, and she's all alone. 

Steeling herself, Veronica reaches out and grasps his hand, shaking it three times. Firm, but not hard; exactly the way her father always taught her. 

"Thank you, Mr. Meyers. I won't forget everything you've done for me." 

It's something her father would have said. 

_Don't ever forget a cut or a kindness, Mija._

The memory of her father settles over her like a warm blanket, and Veronica blinks a few times to clear her head of haze and her eyes of tears. 

She gives the attorney a small smile and then she's out the door with Andre following close behind. A blast of cold air hits her as she pushes out the revolving doors of Meyer, Goldman, FitzPatrick, and Burke. The sudden change in temperature clears her head, and Veronica takes a moment to gather herself. She looks at the skyline and admires the way the sun reflects off the Freedom Tower. She pulls the tie of her coat tighter around her in an attempt to hold herself together and keep all her feelings from spilling onto the cold New York pavement. 

The car is waiting promptly as usual, and Andre opens the door so she can get in. Then, he closes it behind her and climbs in the front seat beside her driver. 

"Home, Smithers." 

"Yes, Miss Veronica." 

Home being the jewel in her father's real estate crown: The Waldorf Astoria. It was the last property he'd acquired before the accident, and Veronica had the privilege of being there to witness it. 

Hiram Lodge could work a crowd like no one she'd ever seen. His natural charisma and ability to read the room and adapt accordingly were unparalleled, and he used it to his advantage. The Hilton's found themselves nodding and saying yes to his demands without really understanding why until he had negotiated the building right out from under their noses. 

Veronica had been blessed with the same charm and intuition her father had, and while in her _younger and more promiscuous years_ she used it to get whatever her heart desired, she's mellowed out considerably these days. 

And now here she is, not quite twenty-five years old and the owner of a real estate empire. She should be celebrating. She should be on top of the world. Instead, all she wants to do is crawl into bed and cry. But she's got a funeral to attend, and no tears left to shed. 

The car is quiet except for the deep croon of Bing Crosby coming from the radio as Smithers expertly guides the Cadillac through the congested Manhattan streets. 

Throughout her life, people have always come and go. She'd learned early on that her family's wealth and influence attracted all the wrong kind of attention and that very few individuals were to be trusted. 

There was her nanny, Elena, an older Latina lady who used to hum choral music to put her to sleep at night. She now lives in a nice retirement home in the Hamptons. 

Then, of course, there's Smithers, her loyal and faithful chauffeur. He's seen every version of Veronica there is and lived to tell the tale. Veronica had footed the bill when his son got accepted to Dartmouth this past year. 

She couldn't forget about Andre, her security guard, either. A former NYPD police detective and U.S. Marine, he had a wife and two little kids in a nice brownstone just across the bridge in Williamsburg. 

Her Abuelita lives just across the Long Island Sound, in Fairfield, Connecticut, in an 18th-century colonial where she would be well taken care of until the end of her days. 

Then there was Ethel. Ethel Marie Muggs, Veronica's first friend all those years ago when Ethel's father was still on good terms with her father; before Hiram Lodge made "necessary cuts," and he had to, "let Mr. Muggs go." 

They'd been inseparable as children even though Ethel went to public school and Veronica went to Spence. Even though Ethel's family lived paycheck to paycheck and Veronica's family had been the ones signing them. 

They spent countless afternoons with Elena in Central Park feeding the ducks or in the back of Veronica's town car as Smither's drove them to get ice cream or walking hand in hand under Andre's watchful eye in the Bronx Zoo. 

But then her father fired Mr. Muggs, loyal, kind-hearted Mr. Muggs, and she and Ethel stopped talking. 

That was when they were thirteen, just two girls on the cusp of womanhood. Seven years past before Veronica reached out to her, against her parent's wishes, and asked if Ethel wanted to get coffee one morning. 

It was a slow thing, to get back to some semblance of friendship with her, but it was worth it. Ethel's always been such a good person, and Veronica needs to surround herself with good people. 

The stop of the car in front of the building breaks her train of thought. As soon as Andre opens the door, the sound of the city hits her like a freight train, and those pensive thoughts evaporate. It's hard for her to think these days, especially here, in the middle of Manhattan. Even her penthouse suite feels too loud sometimes; too haunted by the ghosts of days past when she was happy. Or at least she thought she was. 

\--- 

There's a unique solemnness that blankets New York City on days like today. When a firefighter is killed in the line of duty, it's not just his house that mourns. It's the entire city. The loss is felt just as keenly by complete strangers as it's felt by those who knew him. 

And that's what Firehouse 84 is. A family. A ragtag one, but a family all the same. 

Lieutenant Archie Andrews, of Rescue Squad 54, sits in one of the pews of St. Patrick's Cathedral as he listens to the service for his friend and commanding officer, Jason Blossom. Beside him on his left sits Chief Tom Keller, his fellow lieutenant, Chuck Clayton, and the rest of the house: Reggie Mantle, Marmaduke “Moose” Mason, Joaquin DeSantos, Munroe “Mad Dog” Moore, Nate “Sweet Pea” Mantle, and Frank “Fangs” Fogarty. 

In the row in front of them is Jason's heavily pregnant wife, Polly, and their two children, five-year-old Daniel, and three-year-old June. Jason's parents and twin sister, Cheryl, also sit in the front row on the opposite side. And Polly's sister, Betty, an old friend of Archie's, and their parents, Hal and Alice, sit beside their grieving daughter. 

Archie's eyes begin to wander and that's when he sees her. 

She's seated directly across the aisle from him, a vision in black. She's got her glove encased hands folded primly in her lap, and he can see her rosary wrapped around her fingers. Stocking clad legs are crossed in front of her, and her hair is the same shade as her coat, black as black can be. It reminds him of the billowing black smoke from the top of that abandoned warehouse. She's wearing a hat with a little veil that obscures most of her face, but he can see that her lips are a delicious shade of berry and it makes him want to bite them. 

_Get a hold of yourself, Andrews. This is a funeral for Christ's sake._

The priest is murmuring something, no doubt leading the gathering in another prayer, but all Archie can look at is the woman across the aisle. Her lips move as she prays and Archie knows he should be doing the same. But if he prays for God to be merciful on Jason's soul, it means admitting that he's dead at all. And accepting Jason's death means acknowledging how close he came to the same fate. 

He'd rather not think of that again. 

\--- 

Veronica can feel his eyes on her. The red-haired firefighter sitting just across the aisle from her. The birdcage veil of her hat obscures her eyes just enough so that she can check him out without him being any the wiser. 

He's handsome; even through the dress uniform, she can tell he's built. And if she hasn't been numb for so long, she'd feel bad about being all hot and bothered in the middle of her a funeral service. 

He seems to be out of it. He's fidgety, anxious. She can see it in the way his shoulders are set and the twitch of his fingers against his knees and while there are hundreds of firefighters in here (and hundreds more outside) she knows he's from Jason's house. She knows what grief is, she knows what it looks like, better than she would like to admit, and the deadness in his eye tells her all she needs to know. 

The movement of his fingers draws her eyes to his hands, and she thinks about those large, calloused hands wrapped around her thighs or pinning her arms above her head. 

She's going to need to go to confession after this. 

\--- 

"I ask that the members of the Fire Department of New York, active and retired, please rise and stand in place until seated by my command." 

The solemn voice of the fire commissioner rings out over the hallowed ground of Cypress Hills Cemetery, and Veronica watches in awe as hundreds of men and women in dress uniform rise for their fallen comrade. Then, four groups of five bell strikes ring out and, over the silence, Veronica can hear Polly sobbing. 

"The signal five-five-five-five has been transmitted. It is with deep regret that the Fire Department of New York announces the death of its member, Captain Jason Blossom, on October 6th, 2019. Captain Blossom's assignment is completed, and he has returned to quarters." 

She watches, teary-eyed herself, as two young men, no older than her, fold the FDNY flag draped atop the casket and pass it to the next of kin: Polly. She can see their little boy, Daniel, standing tall at his mother’s side, his father's helmet clutched in his tiny hands. It's almost as big as he is. 

"Company, present arms." 

The still-standing firefighters salute at the same time; a sea of black dress coats and pristine white gloves against starch white hats and Veronica finds herself sobbing without really knowing why. 

When the service is over, and the crowd has begun to disperse, she excuses herself and walks the little ways back to the majestic white marble headstone that marks her parent's final resting place. 

"Hi Mom. Hi Daddy." 

She bends down and brushes some fallen leaves off, running her gloved fingers over the engravings of their names. A cold wind blows across the cemetery and makes her shiver even through her wool coat. 

Veronica lingers a bit longer and sends up a tearful prayer before standing up tall, brushing out her coat and taking a few deep breaths. 

"Veronica?" 

A soft, feminine voice coming from behind her causes Veronica to turn. Her friend, Manhattan ADA, Midge Klump, is standing there. Midge is a tiny girl, with small features and long dirty blonde hair with wide hazel eyes. But don't let her pixie-like looks fool you. She's an absolute lion in the courtroom. She's got the highest conviction rating of any ADA in Manhattan and is on the fast track to becoming the next DA before her thirtieth birthday. 

"Smithers is pulling the car around." 

Veronica nods but can't bring herself to look away from her parent's grave. Midge comes up beside her and links their arms as they turn and walk back towards the entrance. 

\--- 

The Whyte Wyrm is a little hole in the wall dive in the same neighborhood as Pop's diner in Brooklyn. Within a few blocks of the firehouse, and Archie's own loft, the two small, family-owned businesses have been a staple of the neighborhood for as long as he can remember. 

Him and Jason and the guys had spent countless hours in Pop's before and after shift, gorging themselves on greasy food and coffee and milkshakes, bullshitting around and flirting with the waitresses. 

The Wyrm was where they went after the hard days. The multiple casualty days. The bone and blood and tears days. The "we almost died, but by some miracle, we didn't days". 

The Wyrm is where Archie sits now, sitting on a stool, and slumped over the worn wooden bar, nursing a bottle of Budweiser and allowing his mind to drift to the beautiful woman from the church. 

His mind keeps darting back and forth between images of her lips and images of her legs. He hadn't even seen her face, not really; he doesn't even know her name so why does he want to press her against the nearest flat surface and have his way with her? 

Maybe it's because a little more than a week ago he had stared death in the face and now he just wants to feel alive. Maybe it's because it's been weeks since he'd enjoyed the company of a woman; taking care of his dad was more important. 

Whatever the reason, he needs to stop thinking about her before he pops a semi right in the middle of Jason's celebration of life and has to go into the bathroom and either think about dead bodies or jack off. 

_Jesus._

Neither are particularly appealing ideas since he knows what's gone down in the men's bathroom of the Whyte Wyrm. 

"Archie?" He closes his eyes and swallows as he hears Polly's voice behind him. He swivels in his chair and schools his expression into one of tired acceptance. 

"Hey, Polly." He gives her a hug even though it physically pains him to do it. Not because he doesn't think she needs or deserves it but because he can't look her in the eyes. How do you tell a woman that you could have saved her husband but you couldn't because you froze? He's a firefighter, one of New York's Bravest and he froze. He feels so ashamed. 

“I want to thank you. For what you did.” 

Archie has to swallow back the bile that rises in his throat. Polly's looking at him like he's some hero and he can't handle it. 

"Polly, don't. I-it's okay." 

She nods all teary-eyed and kisses his cheek before little Daniel is dragging her away, asking for a juice box and some goldfish. 

He swivels in his stool, turning his back on the other mourners as they mill around behind him. He motions for another beer but changes his mind and settles for something stronger instead. Fangs, whose part-owner, sets a glass and the whole bottle of bourbon down in front of him without Archie even having to ask. 

He's pouring a glass when he hears the echoing footfalls of someone wearing heels walk across the floor and then a body is sliding into the stool next to him. 

"Do you mind sharing?" 

It's the woman from the church; his raven-haired mystery. She's taken her coat and hat off, and now he can see her face. She has stunning eyes; wide and dark and mesmerizing and he feels like he could get sucked in. Her nails are painted a deep, purplish-red, and she's wearing a string of pearls that only help to emphasize her creamy skin, exposed by the décolletage of her silky black dress. 

“Not at all.” 

Instead of asking Fangs for another glass, he simply takes a drink from his and pushes it towards her. He expects her to flinch or make a face, but she picks it up, downs it in one go and sets it back on the counter in one fluid movement. 

There's her lipstick print right there on the side of the glass and Archie looks at before offering her his hand to shake. 

"Archie Andrews." 

"Veronica Lodge." 

\--- 

Ten minutes later, Veronica finds herself pressed against the old wooden bathroom door of the Whyte Wyrm's ladies' room as Archie drags her panties down her legs and tucks the scrap of black lace in the pocket of his dress uniform pants. 

There's not a whole lot of talking happening which is fine with her. He's very focused on lifting her with his hands under her thighs and situating her on the sink so that's she delicately balanced. She widens her legs so he can step between them, and the movement causes her dress to ride up her thighs, exposing the tops of her stockings and the garter belt she's wearing. 

He puts his hands on top of her thighs and runs his fingers under the strap of her garter. It's gentle, much gentler than she was expecting, and it makes goosebumps break out all over her body. 

In contrast to his gentle hands, Archie's lips are rough against hers. He kisses her like he's starving; like he's got something to forget and nothing to lose. That's good. So does she. 

Veronica's hands are just as frantic as his lips as she pushes his jacket off his arms and unto the floor and tugs his dress shirt out of his pants. Then she's pulling his pants open, sliding her hands underneath his boxer briefs and wrapping her fingers around him. 

"Fuck." 

Veronica fumbles for her clutch on the sink behind her and pulls out a condom. He smiles at her and while on anyone else it would be lascivious, on him it's playful and even a little heartwarming. 

She hands him the condom and while he puts it on, she occupies herself by kissing his neck and running her hands up and down his muscular back. 

He pulls away and makes her look at him as he guides his hips forward and into her. Veronica closes her eyes and just feels. She feels for the first time in what feels like months as Archie grabs her legs and hikes them up on his waist. She locks her ankles together just above his ass where the tops of his uniform pants lie and she tangles her hands in that fiery red hair of his. 

He buries his head in her neck and his breath stutters against her skin when he's all the way inside. The sudden movement of air causes her hair to stir and when he pulls back to look at her, he runs his thumb across her lip. Smudging her lipstick in the process but also brushing the stray wisps of hair away from her face. 

She's still wearing her dress, garter, stockings, and heels, and Archie's pants are only pushed down to his thighs but this is the closest she's felt to another human in God knows how long. She pushes her hands into the sides of his shirt where it hangs loosely from his body and digs her perfectly manicured nails into his firm ass cheeks and she allows herself to feel. 

"Please." 

She doesn't know what she's begging for, and maybe it's too many things at once, but he must understand because he listens to her and begins moving in and out, a long, slow, sensuous drag that makes her want to sob it feels so good. 

\--- 

When Archie dragged her into the bathroom and pushed her up against the door, he was expecting something fast and hurried. But once he has her in front of him, he wants to take a little time with her. It's the closest he's felt to someone else in a long time. She makes him feel alive as she moans in his ear and pulls his hair, as she tightens around him and squeezes her hands against his skin. 

She smells like something expensive, and he'd be willing to bet it's Chanel No.5. Her lipstick is smudged from his thumb and his mouth, and he's sure he's covered in it as well, but right now he can't bring himself to care. 

\--- 

When Veronica comes it's with Archie's hand on her clit and his lips on hers, swallowing the moans she can't hold back anymore. He slumps against her as he comes too, but even then, he doesn't stop kissing her. 

In fact, he doesn't stop kissing her until there's a pounding on the door. 

That right there shatters the post-coital bubble of bliss they'd been floating in. Archie pulls away and throws the condom out, and Veronica hops off the sink, straightening her dress and fixing her hair and lipstick in the mirror. 

Suddenly, she feels embarrassed. She just fucked a total stranger on the sink of a bar's ladies' room. She can feel a panic attack coming on, and she's out of the bathroom before Archie even has his shirt tucked in again. 

She denies it, but Veronica is terrified. Terrified of what Archie made her feel and terrified of allowing herself to go down that road with anyone. And while she tells herself over and over and over again that it was just sex and it doesn't mean a damn thing; she knows it's not true. 

Veronica can't help but want to get to know him. She wants to know why he looks so sad, so beaten down, so weary. She wants to help him with whatever battles he's fighting. 

\--- 

He doesn't even get to say anything to her before she’s gone like a shot, breezing out the door and leaving him panting in the ladies' room. 

He's not sure nor does he know what the hell just happened but something's changed. Veronica made him feel alive again. But it wasn't just the sex; he wants to know her. Archie wants to know why she wears berry-colored lipstick and who gave her the pearls around her neck and why she looks so sad all the time. 

But mostly, he just wants to know, _who is Veronica Lodge?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I've missed this fic and I'm excited to be working on it again! Let me know what you think in the comments: your feedback is important to me! 
> 
> xoxo Katiekins


	2. take me to the water, wash away my sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie takes a shower and Veronica takes a bath and the only thing they can seem to think about is each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The water understands civilization well;  
>  It wets my foot, but prettily, it chills my life, but wittily,  
> It is not disconcerted, it is not broken-hearted:  
> Well used, it decketh joy, adorneth, doubleth joy:  
> Ill used, it will destroy, in perfect time and measure  
> With a face of golden pleasure, elegantly destroy.  
> -Ralph Waldo Emerson, Water_

Chuck Clayton sighs as Archie nearly loses his footing again, nearly falling and slamming his face off the stairs that lead to his loft. He’d watched as his friend drank his way through an entire bottle of bourbon before Fangs finally cut him off, and Chuck put him in a cab. 

He knows that Archie’s been struggling. Things haven’t been easy for his fellow lieutenant. Chuck doesn’t know what went down on that floor that day. He was venting the roof with Moose and Reggie while everyone else cleared the building. One minute they were fine and the next the radios cut out and there was an explosion that shook the entire block.

With their radios down, it took nearly twice as long to find one another, even with the location alarms going off. By the time they were able to get to Jason, Archie was giving him CPR, but it was too late. 

Chuck doesn’t want to see Archie go down the same rabbit hole he did a few years ago. Two years prior, he lost a kid in a house fire. She was only nine years old, and although Archie had tried to save her, her crush injuries and smoke inhalation were too much. 

Archie fucked up his shoulder on that same call while trying to break down a door and pretty much crawled inside a pill bottle for the better part of the last year and a half. Had it not been for Jason, who forced him to get clean and go to NA, well, Archie wouldn’t be here right now.

“You should have seen her Chuck,” Archie says, still going on about a girl he’d seen at the service, “reminded me of Audrey Hepburn.” 

Chuck is nodding along and trying not to laugh because he’s pretty sure his friend is imagining things in his drunken state, “I’m sure she did, man, I’m sure she did.”

Archie flops onto his bed, barely kicking off his dress shoes while Chuck pulls the curtains of his bedroom shut. He leaves a glass of water and some Advil on the nightstand next to him, throws a blanket over his friend, before switching off the lights and heading out. 

\---

Veronica holds her breath as she sinks under the hot water in her tub. She lets the water flood her ears, and the world drowns out. She can’t hear anything, nothing at all, and the silence is heavenly. She stays under water until her lungs begin to burn and then she bursts up, coughing and trying desperately to catch her breath. 

She rubs her hands over her eyes and pushes her wet hair back from her face. It’s late, and she’s exhausted. She accompanied Cheryl home, to make sure her friend got showered, fed, and into bed before kissing her forehead and promising to call tomorrow to check in. 

Veronica can’t get her mind or her body to shut the fuck up long enough for her to fall asleep. She had hoped that the lavender and eucalyptus oil she added to her bath would help her relax, but somehow she’s more on edge than she was before. 

She can’t get Archie Andrews out of her head, and she doesn’t know what to do about it. She had followed him into the bathroom expecting a rough, rushed fuck against the sink, something primal, to get her blood pumping. 

But he was much gentler with her than she anticipated, and she doesn’t know how to feel about that. Being with him was the first time she’s felt normal in a long time, and the magnitude, the  _ intensity, _ of that realization is overwhelming. 

Veronica closes her eyes and leans her head back against the edge of the tub. She lets her fingers drag across her breast, remembering the warmth of his lips and tongue against her skin. She trails them around her nipple, and then below the water and down her stomach. Her breath catches as she circles her fingers around her clit, her back arching as she remembers the stretch of him inside of her and the contrast of his soft lips and calloused hands all over her skin. Her other hand toys with her nipple, pinching and pulling it into a firm bud.

As it builds, she moves her fingers faster, and the memories become more vivid. She can almost taste him. Veronica keens as she eases two fingers inside, curling her fingers and imagining they’re his. It’s easy to come with her palm grinding against her clit, and she does, gripping the lip of the bathtub so tight her knuckles are white. She opens her eyes and it takes a minute to catch up. A long-forgotten sense of relief washes over her, and she smiles lazily, her head rolling against the edge of the tub. 

Veronica looks out her window at the New York skyline, her heart feeling strangely light. Something has shifted and although she can’t quite place her finger on it, she knows that it’s all because of Archie Andrews. 

\---

Archie wakes up the morning after the funeral to a warm, wet nose and tongue against his face. He groans and bats the furry body away. Vegas, his lab, is on top of the bed, whining in his ear to get him up and out of bed. But Archie may as well be dead to the world. He’s pretty sure he barely qualifies as a person right now.

He doesn’t remember much from yesterday; it’s all kind of spotty, but he sure as hell remembers the raven-haired woman who had haunted his dreams. Her lips, her legs, her hair, her eyes. Archie remembers every inch of her in vivid detail, even while the rest of the day is blurry or completely missing at all. 

It’s not a bad memory to have if he’s being completely honest with himself. If the only thing he remembers from that terrible day is Veronica Lodge, it will be a blessing. 

He's got the shift off because Chief Keller insisted upon it. Which means he has a whole forty-eight hours to kill. He needs to go grocery shopping and check on his dad. And he's been promising Jughead breakfast for months now.

He can decide later, right now he needs to get out of his dress uniform and into the shower. He smells like the Wyrm, his head is pounding, and his muscles are aching from sleeping all night in the same position.

He gets his jacket and shirt off without falling over but has to sit down on the edge of the bathtub to take off his shoes and socks. Vegas is laying down the entire time, sprawled across the bathroom tile and watching his human struggle with what should be a simple task.

Once he's actually in the shower, he turns the water up as hot as it will go and watches as it turns his pale skin bright red. It's more about taking the edge off the numbness than anything else, but Archie always feels a little bad when he gets in this headspace. He hates to complain or ask for help because he's  _ so _ lucky to even be alive right now. Jason  _ died _ and left behind a pregnant wife and two kids. Archie can suck it up.

He tries not to think about Veronica while he's in the shower but his dick won't leave him alone, and he's too tired and worn down to ignore it.

He feels bad as he wraps his hand around himself and strokes up, but the guilt takes a back seat to pleasure as he remembers how soft the skin of her inner thighs was and the little whimpers and moans she made in his ear while he fucked her. If he focuses hard enough, he can remember what she smelled like, what flavor her lipstick was.

“Fuck.”

His hand speeds up the closer he gets, trying like hell to replicate the warm, wet feeling of her walls. Archie’s head drops back against the tile, the water from the shower head running down his body and dripping off the ends of his hair. 

Just thinking about her sends him over the edge, and he curses as he comes, his cock stuttering through his curled hand as sensitivity overwhelms him. The shower rains down and washes everything away, and while he still feels a bit guilty, Archie also feels better.

When he gets out of the shower, fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist, Archie picks up his uniform pants. As he shakes them out, something small, black, and lacy flutters to the floor. He bends over to pick it up and grins at the memories it brings. 

He should probably get the panties back to her, but he only knows her name, and there are millions of people in New York City. Maybe he'll hold onto them for a while, a keepsake or souvenir from that encounter with the mysterious Veronica Lodge.

\---

Betty is tired. It feels like she’s been up for days, combing through witness statements and crime scene photos and still  _ nothing.  _ There’s not one thing, not one sliver of evidence that can support her theory. 

She runs her hands over her tightly pulled ponytail with a frustrated sigh. At this point it’s not even a theory, honestly, more like a nagging hunch, a gut feeling, an instinct. 

Polly didn’t have to ask Betty to look into the fire that killed her husband. Betty, with her natural inquisitiveness and desire for justice, would have done it anyway. It’s why she became a police officer in the first place. 

It’s late, and she’s still in the clothes she wore to the funeral. Betty had gone right to the district as soon as she could get away. It’s now just after midnight and she’s no closer to an answer than she was when she got here six hours ago. 

Deciding to call it a night, Betty pushes in her chair and heads to the break room to grab her water bottle out of the fridge. Someone’s left the Times on the counter, ragged and folded up. She only glances at it. Family loyalty means that she still reads The Register, but her eye catches something. 

It’s insignificant, really. A small blurb in the B-section with a vague title.

**State Police Investigating Suspicious Fire That Left Real Estate Tycoon and Wife Dead.**

Betty pauses, the wheels in her head turning until...boom. Light bulb. She skims the article, and then searches online for the original piece from a few months ago. She picks up the phone and places a call to the Vermont State Police, inquiring about their case and asking if they can send her their files

Once the first fax comes in, Betty can feel that shift in the atmosphere when a case picks up. 

One photo in particular is extremely interesting. It looks to be in the basement of a house, and amidst all the rubble is a wire coil with the charred remains of what appears to be a styrofoam cup. There are two more in other areas of the basement. 

Betty sighs and picks up her phone. Her thumb hovers over the contact of the person she wants to call, debating on whether to go through with it or not. Remembering how late it is, Betty decides to wait until tomorrow.

\---

Archie is standing at his dad's stove, slowly sobering up, frying bacon, eggs, sausage, and pancakes for breakfast. His dad is in the living room, sitting in his leather armchair. Vegas is laying by his feet, occasionally begging for scraps but mostly just keeping him company.

Fred Andrews is one of the last of a dying breed. Literally. He'd been diagnosed with stomach cancer last year, a direct result of the time he spent at Ground Zero on 9/11 and the days, weeks, and months following. Most of his company had died that day, and he'd lost countless friends since from the illnesses that ran rampant through the first responder community.

It was hard for Archie to watch his dad deteriorate in front of his very eyes. The cancer was aggressive and nearly impossible to treat, and while Archie knew that death was inevitable, he tried not to think about it as much as possible.

"How are you doing there, Arch?"

He comes into the kitchen with Vegas at his heels and sits down at the island. Archie sets his plate in front of him, and Fred reaches for his pill container. He hates all the meds; he only takes them for Archie. If it were up to him, he wouldn't be taking them at all. He's tired. Tired of all the medication and the doctors and the needles. He's just tired of it all.

It's much easier on his stomach to eat and then take his medication, so Archie makes sure that he's there to cook him breakfast whenever he's not on shift because he knows Fred won't always do it by himself.

It's a strange thing to take care of your parents. They spend all that time taking care of you, and when you're a kid, it doesn't really dawn on you that someday you'll have to be the one stepping up for them.

His mom had walked out on them when he was thirteen; she decided that "finding herself" was more important than raising her child or keeping the promises she made to her husband. Fred is on better terms with her than Archie is, although he knows deep down the cancer means he should reach out.

It's a beautiful morning in Brooklyn, and Archie is shoveling pancakes into his mouth when his phone rings.

"Archie, hey, it's Betty. Listen; I know it’s been awhile, but, I need your help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two! Some pining, some mutual (but not technically, I guess?) masturbation, Betty putting on her sleuthing goggles, and we meet Fred. Let me know what you think in the comments: your feedback is important to me! 
> 
> xoxo Katiekins


	3. to dazzle in your daydreams, to dance amongst the stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archie and Betty make a discovery and Veronica takes a risk. And at the end of the day, they find themselves thinking about each other once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Dreaming, after all, is a form of planning." - Gloria Steinem_

Archie knows it's grave by the tone of Betty's voice. It had always been her biggest tell, even when they were kids, and the same is true now. If you want to know how Betty Cooper really feels, just listen carefully to her voice.

She asks him to meet her at the abandoned warehouse, the place where Jason died, and Archie almost says no. There are too many demons there, but then she says, "Please, Arch," and he knows by her tone that she's desperate, and she needs his help. And Archie Andrews is not the kind of man to let a friend's call for help go unanswered. So he agrees.

When he pulls up, she's leaning against her car; arms crossed over her chest with the cool October breeze blowing the loose strands of her ponytail around her face. Her expression is solemn, serious, and a little bit sad. Archie understands. It's so often his expression these days. She smiles as he gets out of his truck and walks over, throwing her arms around him.

"Thank you for coming. I know this is hard for you. I'm sorry," Archie just shrugs, beckoning her to follow him to the door, “but I have to know.”

Everything looks so much different in the light of day; he almost doesn't recognize it without the black smoke billowing out of the roof and the yellow-orange glow of the towering flames dancing across the walls.

Archie's not sure what he's looking for, but Betty seems intently focused on searching for something, so he simply walks around, surveying the area and waiting for her to explain what the hell is going on.

Betty gets into these trances when she's knee-deep in a case. Her focus is insane; it actually used to freak Archie out when they were in school together, before she got that scholarship and transferred to that fancy all-girls school across the bridge. But he knows that's what makes Betty such a good cop. Her single-minded determination to solve a case is admirable. 

Archie's walking around the ground floor, turning over pieces of debris when he sees it. Near where the stairs once stood is a large outline. The floor around it is black with ash and soot, but this spot, this one, singular, body-shaped spot is clean. Seeing it makes Archie sick to his stomach, and he kneels down before his legs give out and he collapses.

This is the spot where Jason died. When the floor above them came crashing down, Archie had only been hit on the head. But Jason was crushed almost completely under the weight of the materials from above them, pinned under hundreds of pounds of debris and unable to move. Mustering all of his strength, Archie was able to shift the pieces of ceiling enough so that he could get to his captain. Jason's alarm was going off, piercing the air with shrill, sharp sounds every second, signaling to his fellow firefighters that a man was down. Archie doesn't remember a whole lot after that. The head injury made his memory spotty. He gets flashes here and there, like what's happening right now, but they're quick, and just before he can really tap into them, they're gone, fading away, back into his subconscious.

"Archie," Betty lays a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, "you need to look at this."

He follows her to the middle of the building, where there appears to be a pile of debris on the floor. The closer he gets though, the further his stomach sinks.

"This wasn't an accident." It's not a question; it's a statement because he already knows what he's looking at.

"No. Someone planned this. We’re looking for an arsonist.”

\---

Cheryl lives in a townhouse on the upper east side, left to her by her Nana Rose. The Blossom’s are old money; originally Dutch settlers, the family had made their fortune in the picturesque maple groves of Vermont by harvesting the liquid gold that ran every spring; maple syrup. 

That was years ago, though. Now, the Blossoms have a hand in everything from real estate to fashion to restaurants to international trade. Jason had been the jewel of their crown, groomed his entire life to take over the family business until he met all-American girl Polly Cooper, a scholarship transfer student from Brooklyn, a month into his senior year. 

Everything had changed then. Suddenly, the Blossom heir didn’t want anything to do with the opulent life he’d been born for. His father cut him off, and after graduation, Jason joined the FDNY, moved to Brooklyn, and married Polly. Two children followed shortly after. 

Cheryl had been the only one in her family to remain on speaking terms with her brother. They had always been close, and being twins; the separation was hard on them both. She doted on her niece and nephew and even made her peace with Polly and vice versa, who had also been shunned by her family for throwing away her future. 

Yesterday, Cheryl had been stoic. Not a hair out of place, not one tear shed throughout the entire ordeal. Polly had asked her to speak about her brother, and not once did her voice waver as she eulogized him. Not even when Chief Keller, Kevin’s estranged father, she was surprised to learn, spoke candidly about Jason did Cheryl do anything but face forward, despite the rest of the gathered friends and family openly sobbing. 

Cheryl was a consummate actress, but Veronica’s known her since they were three. Her ability to remain cold and somber in even the most emotionally charged situations was a skill she honed early in life when her family always favored her brother over her. It was a survival instinct to hide her disappointment and hurt. It became even more important in her teenage and college years when she went through great pains to hide her sexuality from her parents and listen to the often homophobic bullshit spewed by her father at the dining room table.

So despite Cheryl’s performance yesterday, Veronica knows how much her best friend is hurting right now. Her parents are just as absent as they ever were; her brother, who Cheryl always said was her soulmate, is dead. 

Veronica uses her key to get in, her Louboutins echoing off the wood floors as she makes her way further into the house. It’s quiet, only the sound of the grandfather clock ticking and the radiator humming can be heard. She calls out for Cheryl but receives no answer. This doesn’t worry her, though. The house is huge, and it’s only about a quarter after eight, much too early for a New York Sunday. Cheryl’s probably still asleep. 

She walks upstairs to Cheryl’s bedroom, hot coffee, fresh croissants, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s in tow. A Sunday morning tradition reserved for when they didn’t want to have brunch at the Plaza with the rest of the upper east siders. 

When she reaches Cheryl’s door, Veronica raps her knuckles softly three times. Still no answer. But then there’s a sniffle and the sound of tissues being pulled out of the box. 

She turns the handle and pushes the door open and there’s Cheryl. 

She’s curled up on her king-sized bed, surrounded by pillows and cocooned in blankets. There are used tissues scattered across the top of her bed, her nightstand, and the floor. An empty bottle of Merlot and a glass smudged with her signature red lipstick sits on a tray beside her. 

Cheryl’s face is a small pale break in the bright red of her duvet and grey of her pillows, cheeks tear-stained, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, and lips cracked and dry.

“Oh, mi querida,” she says, and as soon as Cheryl sees her she bursts into tears. Veronica is crawling up onto the platform frame and finding her way through the mass of blankets and pillows to her best friend. The redhead slumps forward into her body, and Veronica wraps her arms around her quaking form. Dark fingernails comb through long, red locks soothingly, as salty tears soak through Chanel. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, Cher. I’m here now.”

\---

Back at the firehouse, Betty and Archie go straight to Chief Keller’s office and shut the door. The rest of the house looks at each other anxiously. Things have been heavy since yesterday, and everyone knew Archie was supposed to be taking the shift off. He shouldn’t be here, they all know that, even though he wanted to be. But he wouldn’t disobey a direct order from Chief if it wasn’t something urgent. 

“It’s not good, whatever it is,” Reggie says, running his hands through his hair, “did you see Andrews’ face?”

Chief Keller catches Chuck’s eye and motions for him to join them. More anxious glances are exchanged, the already suffocating tension in the air growing heavier still. Mad Dog cracks his knuckles, a nervous habit he’s never been able to kick. He’s been doing that an awful lot lately. 

“It’s something to do with Jason.” He says firmly. He knew, just by looking at Archie’s face as he walked by. 

“I don’t like this, man,” Moose says, looking at each of them in turn, “first Andrews comes in with Betty looking like that, and now Chuck’s in there, too?”

More anxious glances, more loaded silences. The refrigerator hums, the clock ticks, cars go by outside. The assembled firefighters and paramedics take turns pacing and sitting, mindlessly gazing at the TV. 

The waiting game has begun.

\---

“So, firefighters are being targeted now?” Chuck asks. 

Betty shakes her head, “I don’t think it’s firefighters, Chuck,” her voice drops lower, “I think it was Jason.”

Archie goes completely still, fists clenching at his sides. His jaw ticks and he can feel the anger ramping up inside of him. 

“But wouldn’t that be too much of a risk?” Chief Keller asks, “while this job is dangerous, fire is unpredictable; it can’t be controlled. There was no guarantee that Jason would die that day. Or that any of my other men wouldn’t.” 

“It’s still a theory, at this point, but this is the second fire within a month with this M.O. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Not considering the other circumstances.”

Archie gives his friend a sharp look, “What do you mean, Betty?”

The blonde pulls a file out of her bag, “When Polly asked me to look into the fire that killed Jason, I knew it was because she had a bad feeling about it. And the more that I read up on it, the more I did, too.” 

Spreading them out along Chief Keller’s desk, she points out details. “These are from a house fire in Vermont. I stumbled across the newspaper clipping in the Times, and as soon as I read through the article, my hair stood on end,” She points to a little spot on the floor, “see Arch? The devices are the same.” 

“Okay, I’ll admit, the use of the same fire starting device is shady, but that doesn’t mean that it was the same person, or even that homicide was the intent,” Chuck explains, rubbing a hand along his chin. 

Betty drops another photo down on the desk and suddenly everyone goes silent. 

“Hiram Lodge and his wife, Hermione died in this fire last month.” 

As soon as the last name registers, Archie’s chest squeezes and he nearly chokes on his own saliva. 

“Lodge? As in, Veronica Lodge?”

Betty gives him a peculiar look, “She’s their daughter. Best friends with Cheryl Blossom, Jason’s twin sister,” an odd look passes across her delicate features, “Polly and I went to school with them at Spence.”

She seems to recover from whatever had momentarily bothered her because just as quickly as she shifted out of detective mode, she shifts back in. 

“The Lodge’s and the Blossom’s have been doing business together going all the way back to Prohibition. One month both Hiram and Hermione end up dead, and the next month it’s Jason?” 

No one says anything until Chief Keller quietly says, “So you’re saying--” Chief Keller shares a look with Archie and Chuck. 

“I’m saying there’s an arsonist with an agenda on the loose.”

\---

Veronica is nervous; fidgety. She has her first meeting with the Board of Directors in a few hours after calling an emergency meeting late yesterday. Her bathroom tryst with Archie scrambled her brain and she turned to work to untangle it. 

She’s nearly sick with fear. When she was little, she had always imagined that when this moment came she would have her mother and father to lean on for comfort and support and guidance. 

But she’s alone. She has her circle, of course. But when it comes to Lodge Industries, she’s flying solo. 

It terrifies her. What if she jeopardizes all of her father’s hard work? What if she lets herself be taken advantage of? What if she simply isn’t prepared to carry the full weight of an entire international, multi-million dollar company by herself?

After cuddling with Cheryl for an hour this morning, she reluctantly left her best friend, finally asleep again, and with some food and water in her stomach. Veronica asks Cheryl’s housekeeper, Magda, a tiny Ukrainian lady, to keep a close eye on her, and to call if she needs anything. 

On her way back to Midtown, she shoots a quick text to Midge, asking her to come help her decide what to wear. She’s barely through the door of her penthouse suite when her friend buzzes up. 

There’s some jazz playing on the turntable and her oil diffuser is going, blowing plumes of lavender and eucalyptus through the air. Midge sits on her bed, mixing and matching different pieces. 

“What about red, V?” She says, holding up a bright-colored silk blouse, “unleash your inner Cheryl Blossom.” 

Veronica ponders for a moment before finally shaking her head. 

“I need to look professional if I want to be taken seriously. I need to look mature, and not like a little girl playing dress-up in my mother’s closet,” she rises from her vanity and goes to her closet. A few seconds pass as she searches for what she’s looking for. 

“This one,” she pulls out a cream-colored blouse and a pair of cropped dress pants with a blazer to match. 

Veronica holds the outfit up to her body as she looks at herself in her floor-length ornate mirror. “Mom gave me this,” she fingers the hem of the shirt, “she said every woman should have at least one little black dress and killer pantsuit in their arsenal.” Midge looks around the room for the shoes she’s looking for.

“Here, babes,” she holds up a pair of red Manolo’s, “try these.” 

Veronica lays the outfit across her chaise lounge and goes back to applying her makeup as Midge starts styling her hair. 

She can’t stop her hands from shaking. 

\---

Chief Keller stands in the firehouse common room, arms folded as he tries to find the words to tell his men that the fire that killed their captain and friend was intentionally set. 

“What’s going on, Chief?” Sweet Pea asks, sharing a concerned look with Fangs when he receives only a heavy sigh in response.

“While the investigation is still ongoing, it’s become increasingly clear that the warehouse fire that killed Jason was no accident.” Everyone exchanges looks of shock and sadness, but mostly of anger. 

“So someone started that fire on purpose,” Reggie says, hands curling into fists at his sides. 

Chief Keller sighs deeply, “It’s looking that way, yeah.”

“It may be part of a larger plot, but I’ll need to speak with my superiors and the BFI before we can officially open a case,” Betty explains. 

“Just...please be careful, all of you. If this last fire is any indication, whoever’s doing this is escalating, quickly,” Chief Keller touches his gaze upon each of the young men in his command, “Be safe, be smart. Look out for one another.” 

They’re dismissed, free to go back to what they were doing before but no one moves. The air is so tense, loaded, and heavy as they all try to process what they’ve just been told. 

Thank God it’s the end of shift. Fangs heads to the Wyrm to open for the night while Sweet Pea goes to Polly’s to help her put together the crib for the new baby. That raises some eyebrows, but no one says anything out loud.

Joaquin has gone pale and slipped out the back quietly without saying anything. It’s not unlike him to do that these days. Moose says something about going to see his dad, while Reggie and Chuck have long-standing post-shift drinks across the bridge in Manhattan to pick up rich chicks.

Hands are shaken and bro hugs are given, everyone relaying varying messages of “be safe” and “call me if you need anything”, with the latter being specifically directed toward Archie. 

When the dust settles, it’s just him and Mad Dog left.

“You wanna go hit some bags, Andrews?”

“Right now, that’s just what I need.”

\---

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the board.” Veronica stands at the head of the conference table, a stack of file folders in front of her that she hands to her assistant, Ginger, to distribute to each member. 

“I’m pleased to be meeting with you all today, although the circumstances are less than ideal,” she smiles, keeps a brave face. 

Veronica clears her throat, “Before my father died, he spoke to me at length about his desire to expand his holdings in Europe, particularly France,” Veronica motions for the gathered members to open their folders, “but I’d like to shift our focus closer to home,” there are shocked glances and murmurs amongst them, “and invest in historic real estate right here in New York.” 

There are some disapproving looks, but also some impressed murmurs, and Veronica smiles.

“Just breathe.”

\---

As Archie’s gloved fist collides with the bag, the stress leaves his body. Every hit loosens the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his chest. Boxing gives him  _ control _ , in a way very few things do. It calms his mind and helps him work through the lingering pain in his shoulder. 

He’ll be sore as hell tonight, but at least he doesn’t go back on shift for another forty-eight hours. Plenty of time to rest before he has to put on the mantle again. 

He loves his job, but sometimes he wonders how his life would be different if he followed his dream of becoming a musician. Music was in his blood. His dad had a band in high school, and so had Archie, but the frequent fights his parents had about how that wasn’t a worthwhile life path haunted him constantly. 

So, he’d done what his dad did. Hung up the Fender and picked up a firehose. But there was always the nagging what-if lingers in the back of his mind. 

Archie just hits the bag harder.

\---

When Veronica arrives home later that night, Veronica is spent. She kicks off her heels and leaves them in the foyer, and throws her blazer over the top of the couch. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she sees she has one new message. 

Odd. No one really leaves messages; if they can’t reach her at home, they call her cell phone. 

When she plays it, she instantly regrets it.

_ “Miss Lodge, this is Detective Elizabeth Cooper with the NYPD. I have some news regarding your parent’s deaths. If you could please call me back at this number as soon as possible, that would be great.” _

Veronica feels like she can’t breathe. It’s been years since she’s heard that voice but she’d recognize it anywhere.  _ Betty _ .  _ Betty Cooper _ . Polly’s little sister. And the target of Veronica’s teenage cruelty. 

She does end up calling Detective Cooper back--and doesn’t  _ that _ make so much sense? Betty was always too astute for her own good--The other woman doesn’t bring up their past so neither does Veronica. She honestly doesn’t remember much about that phone call. Mostly because as soon as Betty started dropping words like  _ arson _ and  _ murder _ and  _ escalating _ Veronica started breathing so heavily she thought she might pass out. 

In a fucked up way, the call is reassuring. She had always felt like something just wasn’t quite right about her parent’s deaths. It was all too perfect, too sudden, too coincidental to simply be an accident. 

She felt crazy. But now she knows she’s not. And she has proof. She thinks of poor Cheryl and Polly and of course, Jason, who had been murdered just like her parents, Betty explained. 

She’s furious. She wants whoever did this sunk to the bottom of the Hudson with a cinder block necklace. 

But she'll deal with that later. Right now, she can’t think about this. It’s too much. So she forces herself to think about something else. 

Archie’s handsome face comes to the forefront of her mind. He’s been a frequent star in her daydreams lately, both innocent and not so innocent. Thinking about him helps her stay calm. So she closes her eyes and imagines her red-haired firefighter. 

Realistically she knows he’s not hers. They fucked in a bar bathroom after talking for about three minutes. But there was something there; she’s sure of it. He may not be hers, yet, but she doesn’t think that was the last she’d see of Archie Andrews.

A glass of wine in hand, Veronica steps out on her balcony into the chilly October air and looks at the skyline and the stars above it and thinks about Archie with his boy-next-door look and his magic hands. 

\---

When Archie walks through the door of his apartment that night he’s exhausted. He’s too tired to eat, even though he knows he should. The emotional toll of this morning with Betty and the physical toll of his afternoon with Mad Dog has taken it out of him. 

He drops his gym bag on the floor next to the door and flops on the couch, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He’s in pain and has the urge to find something to dull the throbbing in his shoulder. It wouldn’t be hard. He knows where to go. Who to see. What to ask for. That numbness is what he craves on days like today; when the world seems to be coming at him again and again and again without a moment's pause and he can’t catch his breath between hits. 

It’s a lot like football but with pills instead of plays. 

He craves what he can’t have in more ways than one. Finding out exactly who Veronica Lodge is was a shock to his system. You know, considering he dragged her into a bar bathroom and fucked her against the sink, stole her panties, and had gotten himself off to the memories of her more than once. 

He should have known that someone like her would be completely out of his league. They usually are. He can't bring himself to feel guilty or sorry about what had happened though. Even if he never saw her again, Archie knew that she had changed something in him. But he isn't sure how to explain what or how. 

She wanders into his mind tonight, despite everything he's seen and done and realized today and he comes to the conclusion that when he's thinking about her, he doesn't want to be numb. He wants to remember how she felt, how she tasted, what she sounded like in his ear.

Archie pours himself a glass of bourbon and goes outside on his fire escape. The air is cold tonight because there are no clouds to be found. The sky is empty. He can see the stars clear as day, bright and twinkling and he sips his bourbon and wonders if Veronica Lodge is gazing up at these same stars right now, thinking about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, I've updated! Sorry about the long wait, I was going through something. But I'm back and I think this is a good chapter. No smut here and Varchie are still pining something FIERCE but there were things that needed to happen this chapter to advance the plot, so it's a filler chapter. You get some barchie and cheronica friendship, and more information about what exactly happened to Jason and The Lodges. 
> 
> Special thank you to Vik for kicking my ass into gear, and Freya, for being a wonderful cheerleader <3 <3 <3
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments: your feedback is important to me!
> 
> xoxo Katiekins


	4. ashes to ashes, dust to dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more light is shed on Veronica's past, Archie reaches out to an old friend for help, and the two of them descend into passionate oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I wanna watch all my bridges burn,  
>  Stand in the rain till the page is turned,  
> Dance in the light of a lesson learned.  
> I wanna leave everything that hurts,  
> Never go back to the way we were,  
> Set it on fire, baby, watch it burn, watch it burn.  
> -Bridges Burn, NEEDTOBREATHE_

The next morning, Veronica wakes up to a wet nose against her cheek. She rolls her head over, but the nose follows; this time accompanied by a high-pitched yipping in her ear. 

“Georgie, shush, Mami’s sleeping.” She runs her manicured hand through the fluffy blonde fur and drags the Pomeranian’s little body onto her chest. 

Georgette Lodge, Georgie, for short, was a gift from her friends just after her parents died. The penthouse apartment was so big and so empty that a happy little puppy was exactly what it needed. 

Veronica is grateful for the joy Georgie brings her every day. 

Said friends are coming over this morning for their weekly Monday morning breakfast. It’s a long-standing tradition dating all the way back to her Spence days. It started with high society daughters, Veronica and Cheryl.

Every morning, Smithers would pick them up from their Park Avenue penthouses and drop them at the Met, stopping somewhere along the way to purchase croissants and coffee before finishing the walk down Madison to get to school.

It became one of the few blessed constants in Veronica’s life. 

As the years went on and the duo entered college, they added Midge Klump and Kevin Keller to the mix. Veronica met Midge at Columbia where she was studying business and Midge was studying law. Cheryl introduced them to Kevin. When she met him through Jason, he was singing in bars and hole-in-the-wall dives in Brooklyn and Harlem, hoping to make it to Broadway.

Together, they made quite the quartet, more than once earning a spot on Page Six or the Enquirer. 

Over the past few years, when her relationship with her parents became increasingly strained, Veronica had come to rely on them more than anything. And when her parents died, they stood beside her, held her hand, and cried with her. 

The three of them, plus Abuelita, Smithers, Andre, and Elena are all she has left. She’s anxious to see if Archie Andrews will join their ranks.

She's still reeling inside about the true nature of her parent's death, and those feelings are at conflict with the feelings a certain red-headed firefighter has left her with.

Veronica's thought about Archie nearly every moment since she rushed out of that bathroom. The way his hair fell into his face, the sweat beading on his neck as he held her up against the sink, the sharp angle of his jaw, and the smoldering brown of his eyes.

But it's so much more than just the physical she recalls so vividly. She remembers in agonizing detail the look on his face as he helped carry Jason's coffin out of the church, and the way his hands clenched while he prayed. His eyes were so sad, and she suspects he's seen more than someone his age ought to.

She's eager to share her musings with her friends; it's been far too long since she's seen anyone; even casually. Not since Nick.

Nick St. Clair was the son of fellow real estate tycoons and a permanent fixture in Veronica's life since she was a little girl. They dated on and off from middle school all the way to college until Nick got involved with some shady business and even shadier people.

He was never a good guy anyway, as her friends, particularly Cheryl, had tried to tell her. But after he got involved with the drug trade, Nick got worse. He made no efforts to hide his anger and manipulation from her. 

The first time he hit her, she brushed it off and made excuse after excuse; even as tears ran down her bruised and bloody face as Kevin pressed a cool cloth to her sore skin. He was upset, she had provoked him, but he apologized and promised he'd never do it again.

But he did do it again. And again. And again.

When Veronica finally plucked up the courage to escape him, she couldn't believe she allowed herself to be in that situation. He left the city not long after; extended business in Japan had kept him halfway across the world for the better part of the last year and a half.

Still, he looms over her life like a dark cloud, haunting her every step with the final threat he threw at her.

" _ Better watch your step, Ronnie, you have no idea what I'm capable of _ ."

Thinking about Nick always puts her in a dark place, and with the shocking news about her parents, she can't afford to be any more in her head than she already is.

She's going down to the precinct this afternoon to speak with Betty-- _ Detective Cooper _ , but for now, she'll try to relax and enjoy her morning with her friends. 

Reluctantly and with a groan, Veronica sits up and stretches as Georgie runs around her in circles. She gets up and slides into her obnoxiously fuzzy bunny slippers, a gag gift from Kevin that she quickly fell in love with.

By the time she's putting on her robe, Georgie is practically vibrating with excitement, no doubt more than ready to be spoiled by their guests.

Veronica descends the stairs, her silk robe billowing out behind her, and Georgie, the little blonde puffball, wriggles and squirms out of Veronica's hold and runs over to Kevin who picks her up.

"Hey, Blondie." He feeds her a little piece of croissant from his plate. Usually, Veronica would never allow anyone to feed her dog table scraps, but for Kevin, she's willing to make an exception.

"Morning, Kev."

"Hello, gorgeous." He presses a kiss to her cheek.

"Margaret, how are you this morning?"

Veronica smirks as she uses the dirty blonde lawyer's full name. Midge hates being called Margaret; a disdain she acquired from listening to years of her overbearing mother screaming it at her.

Midge rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out, "I'm fine, thank you very much," Midge pops a raspberry into her mouth from one of the crystal bowls on the marble island top, "how are you after your liaison with that red-headed firefighter?" She waggles her eyebrows while Kevin looks back and forth between the two women.

"Wait, wait, wait," he says, rounding on Veronica, "that was  _ you _ in the bathroom with Archie?!"

Veronica flushes. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“Oh  _ my God _ .”

“Wait,” Veronica says, pointing a finger at Kevin, “how do  _ you _ know Archie?”

“I may be estranged from my father but that doesn’t mean I don’t know certain important details pertaining to the firefighting profession,” Kevin says exasperatedly, “he’s a lieutenant in my dad’s house, and one of the hottest men in New York, of course, I know him.”

Kevin waves his hand dismissively, “What I want to know is how you ended up in the ladies’ room with him, V.”

Veronica turns from the sink, taking another bite out of her croissant as her two friends patiently wait for all of the scandalous details.

"It was nothing, Kev. Just two ships passing in the night." She's trying to play it cool, but Kevin has always been able to read her quite unlike anyone else. He says everything she feels is always in her eyes.

"That's bullshit, and you know it."

Veronica sighs. It is bullshit, and she does know it.

"V," Midge says softly, "you must have really liked him if you followed him into the bathroom. We all know you're not the casual sex kind of girl."

Midge is right. Her teenage and college years had been filled with endless hookups and no strings attached, friends with benefits arrangements when she wasn’t seeing Nick. Post-Nick, she hadn’t been with anyone at all. 

It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to or for lack of willing partners. After the whole Nick debacle, she felt she couldn't trust her own judgment in the romance department. The thought of ending up with someone like him terrified her.

Beyond that, Veronica hadn't been with anyone who was able to fulfill her both sexually and emotionally. None of the men she hooked up with had been able to be with her in the way she needed and still stick around afterward. The women were easier; sure, they didn’t always fulfill her more submissive fantasies, but they always knew just what to do to get her there. 

So she invested in a good vibrator and some erotic novels to get her through the long, lonely New York nights. 

Truthfully, she doesn't know a lot about Archie. He's a firefighter, he was Jason's friend, and he's a good lover. She doesn't know much about him, but she wants to. In their brief encounter, she had seen much of herself reflected in his eyes.

"He's someone I could get to know better." She allows cautiously, finally meeting Kevin's gaze.

"What are we talking about?"

The companions turn and greet Cheryl as she breezes through the door, not looking at all like she just buried her brother or found out that he was murdered. 

Veronica frowns, having a hard time reconciling this Cheryl with the one she found yesterday. But knowing her friend and how she is, Veronica recovers quickly. She doesn’t want to upset her. 

“Morning, Cher,” she says, accepting the kiss on the cheek, “are you feeling okay?”

“Qui Moi?” She presses her hand to her chest, “but of course! Why wouldn’t I be?”

Kevin and Midge share a perplexed look, while Veronica’s brow furrows in concern. 

“What’s this I hear about your rendezvous with a firefighter?” Cheryl asks, plucking a cherry from the bowl and biting it aggressively. 

"Veronica fucked Archie Andrews in the ladies’ bathroom on Saturday," Midge blurts out.

"Midge!" Veronica says, the flush returning.

“Aw, so it was you who rode the Ginger Stallion that night."

“The Ginger Stallion, oh my God, that’s brilliant,” Kevin says. 

“You’re disgraceful,” Veronica says, although she’s smiling when she says it. 

“You know what, babes, good for you. Those firefighters are god-tier sexy. The things I would do to that to Mr. tall, dark, and handsome, Mantle was the name I think…” Midge makes an obscene gesture that sends the group into hysterics. 

“Alright, alright,” Kevin hops onto a bar stool, and takes a sip of his coffee, “back to the topic at hand; how was it?” 

Everyone’s looking at her in anticipation, and Midge is practically vibrating with excitement the way Georgie was just minutes ago.

Veronica groans and throws her head back, "It was the best sex I've ever had."

The next few hours of her morning consists of her friends hounding her for details and teasing her for liking Archie Andrews a bit more than she should. 

For the first time in a long time, Veronica feels normal.

\---

Archie runs down his street, chest heaving and sweat pouring off his body as he moves. Eddie Van Halen's guitar riffs are the soundtrack to his adrenaline propelled morning, which consisted of a shower (where he jerked off to memories of Veronica…again), checking on his father and making sure he ate, and a quick trip to the firehouse to check in with the guys.

This afternoon he's meeting Betty at the precinct to discuss the case but the next thing on his morning agenda is meeting Jughead for breakfast.

Jughead Jones is an investigative journalist for the New York Times; his life-long dream finally come to fruition. Neighbors and childhood best friends, they've been attached at the hip since practically birth.

The two boys, plus Betty, who lived across the street, had made up what their parents had come to refer to as "The Three Musketeers." They spent nearly every waking minute together. Although life had taken them far from each other, they all made an effort to get together whenever their equally crammed schedules would allow.

"Well, if it isn't Pureheart the Powerful." Jughead is sitting in their booth at Pop's, a huge spread of breakfast food across the table in front of him. His laptop sits amongst it all, his fingers flying over the keys, eyes never leaving the screen, not even when Archie joins him at the table and begins to dig into a stack of pancakes.

"What are you working on, Jug?" Archie asks in between mouthfuls of warm, fluffy pancake and sticky, sweet Blossom maple syrup. The irony is not lost on him.

“My novel.”

Archie smiles. Jughead has been working on his novel since their sophomore year in high school. He was always very secretive about it, and he still is. Archie and Betty had pressed him for information for years until finally, they gave up and just accepted that they were never going to get anything out of Jughead regarding his work.

"Jug, listen, I need a favor." Jughead turns serious. He looks up at Archie and meets his eyes for the first time that morning. He stops chewing, stops typing, and even lowers his laptop screen.

"What is it, Arch?"

"I need you to write a story."

\---

Jughead stares at his friend, looking for any indication that he's joking.

He most certainly is not. 

Jughead is no stranger to these types of requests. Being an investigative journalist for one of the most prominent newspapers in the U.S. means he's courted by very mighty people to dig up dirt on other very mighty people. But he's partial to the smaller cases; the everyday injustices that go unchecked and overlooked.

These types of requests don't shock him. No, it's not the request, rather it's who's making it that makes him uneasy.

Archie is the most moral, upstanding,  _ good _ person he knows. If he's asking him to do this, it's got to be something serious.

"A story about what?"

Archie looks around, suddenly seeming very ill at ease.

"Jason Blossom's death wasn't an accident, Jug. And it's looking like he's just the latest of three victims."

Jughead furrows his brow. His interest is piqued. "Are you telling me that there's a serial arsonist on the loose?”

"Look, Jug, I don't know for sure, okay? I still have to talk to Betty and Veronica Lodge, but that's what it's looking li—"

"Wait, did you say, Lodge?"

"Yeah. Veronica Lodge. Her parents are the other two victims." Jughead's gears begin to turn upon hearing this.

"So a real estate tycoon and his wife die in a house fire. And a month later, a well-respected firefighter and a devoted husband and father die in a warehouse fire," Jughead rubs his chin, "interesting but still just coincidental."

Archie shakes his head, "Not when both fires were started the exact same way." He pulls two polaroid's out of his shorts pocket and slides them across the table to Jughead.

The dark-haired boy scrutinizes them. He can see that both devices are indeed the same, but even then, it's still circumstantial.

"Even if they are connected, why? What's the nexus?"

"I don't know, Jug. I'll have more information after today, but I need  _ you _ to do this for me." Archie looks at his friend, and Jughead can see the depth of his desperation.

"You can dig up dirt on anyone. I need you to do what it is you do best and help me get to the bottom of this."

Jughead thinks for a moment. Hadn't he just been reminiscing the other day about how nice the old days were? How close he and Betty and Archie used to be and how much he hoped things could be like that again someday? This might be his chance.

“You said Betty’s on the case?” His attempts at nonchalance do not go unnoticed by his friend.

“Yeah, she’s the lead detective.” 

“Alright, Archie. I'll make a few calls; see what I can find out."

"Thanks, Jug."

The two men are quiet after that. Pop tells him how nice it is to see them back in their old booth and how they're only missing Betty and The Three Musketeers will be back together.

Archie and Jughead share a smile.

Just like the old days.

\---

When Veronica bids farewell to her friends and climbs in her town car to head to the precinct across the bridge in Brooklyn, she can't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, she'll see Archie again. 

Once the cat was out of the bag with her friends, she didn't even try to be nonchalant with her questions. Veronica has this uninhibited need to know everything she can about Archie Andrews so on the off chance that they do run into each other again, they can have an adult conversation before pulling each other's clothes off.

Stepping out of her town car and into the bustling streets of Brooklyn fills her with a sense of dread, but also one of hope. From what Cheryl is able to tell her, Betty Cooper is a dedicated and thorough detective. If anyone can solve this case, it's her. It’s really not surprising.

The 36th Precinct is a beautiful building, no doubt at least a century old, if not older. The steps are stone, as is the archway above her, and Veronica, always an appreciator of architecture takes in the sight, impressed.

Betty is waiting for her in the lobby, looking solemn. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and her green eyes are severe and sad. She hasn’t changed hardly at all since high school; at least physically. 

Seeing her standing there brings back all sorts of memories she thought she’d buried: of sleepovers and shopping trips and cheer competitions. Blonde hair on silk pillowcases, the scent of vanilla and lemon on satin sheets. Pale pink lipstick smeared across plum shaded lips. Soft curves and gentle hands over olive skin. 

Veronica shakes herself out of her reverie when she realizes Betty is talking to her. 

“Veronica, hi,” Betty looks awkward as if she wants to hug Veronica but can’t, “it’s been a long time. It’s nice to see you.” 

“Nice to see you, too, Betty,” she says, and then softly, “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Betty smiles sadly and opens her mouth to say something else when she’s interrupted. 

"Betty, I have those reports from BFI--” 

Veronica hears him before she sees him. She'd know his voice anywhere; she's been thinking about it pretty much non stop for the past two days. 

Archie Andrews comes bounding through the door, looking just as good as he did the other day. 

He trails off when he sees her. It’s not a physical touch but it certainly feels like it as he drags his eyes down her body and back up again to meet her eyes.

“Uh, Arch, this is Veronica Lodge,” she gestures at Veronica, “and Veronica this is Lieutenant Archie Andrews” Betty is looking between the two of them rapidly, trying to decipher the look they’re sharing. Veronica and Archie don’t notice. They haven't once taken their eyes off of each other. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant.”

“You too, Miss Lodge.”

The formalities and pretending to be strangers only make the entire exchange all the more thrilling, and Veronica rubs her thighs together under her skirt. 

Poor Betty has the funniest look on her face as she watches the two of them shakes hands, the touch lingering longer than it should. 

The blonde detective clears her throat, “We should probably get started. There’s a lot to talk about.”

\---

Betty leads them to her office in the back. Archie holds the door for the two women, and when Veronica walks by, she brushes against him, just barely, just enough to let him know she's  _ there _ .

Once they’re settled, Betty gets them something to drink. Veronica takes her coffee black with two sugars and Archie takes his with lots of cream and sugar. 

He’s hardly paying attention to what Betty’s asking Veronica. Archie’s too focused on the furrow of her brow as she asks clarifying questions or the way her plump, berry-colored lips are pursed around the rim of her mug as she sips her coffee. 

He's so busy daydreaming about her; he doesn't realize that Veronica's asked him a question.

"What was in the cup?" She asks him, and Archie almost doesn't tell her. He looks at Betty, but it's Veronica who says, "you can tell me, it's okay. I'm a big girl, I can handle it.”

He again looks at Betty who nods. "This wire coil holds a Styrofoam cup. Inside the cup is something like brake fluid mixed with an oxidizer like hydrogen peroxide. It's a homemade accelerant."

As they go on and the questions turn towards her parents, Archie's intense and ongoing study of Veronica's face means he catches every little shift in her expression. He can see she's uncomfortable with the direction of the questions.

"Did your father have any enemies? Anyone who might want to hurt him or would gain from his death?" Betty asks, jotting something down in her little notepad.

"My father was a very powerful man, you remember. He had a lot of friends and twice as many enemies. It could have been anyone." Betty nods as she scribbles things down in her notebook, but Archie can't take his eyes off Veronica.

He can tell the questions are bothering her; they've been at this for well over an hour, going over documents and asking questions and picking apart every little detail of her parent’s life.

When Veronica excuses herself to the ladies' room, he turns to Betty.

"That's enough for today." He says.

"Arch, I still have questions for her. We've got to establish the connection between her parents and Jason Blossom."

"Not today, Betty."

“But Archie…”

“Betty, it’s almost five o’clock, we’ve been at it for hours,” he reasons.

He didn’t mean to sound annoyed with her. Betty was just trying to do her job. And he knows that this case hits just as close to home for her as it did for him. But when it came to Veronica, he didn’t know what it was, but he felt this innate need to protect her. To give her what she needs. 

Betty, with her razor-sharp mind and legendary detective skills, begins to smile at him, putting two and two together. 

"Wait, Archie is that—Is she that woman from Saturday?" When Archie doesn't answer, just hurriedly takes another drink from his coffee mug and blushes from his ears all the way down to his neck, Betty laughs.

"Oh my God, she is!" Archie pointedly doesn't make eye contact with his friend.

"She's what?" Veronica comes out of the bathroom at the most inopportune time. She's got her hands on her hips and is looking at Archie accusatorily.

"Nothing. Um, I was just asking Betty if we were done here for the day. Maybe we could grab some dinner? If you don't have…previous…engagements."

\---

Archie rubs the back of his neck nervously, shuffling his feet, stumbling over his words. It’s a stark contrast to the demanding nature of their last encounter. Veronica can’t even remember the last time a guy was this nervous to talk to her or ask her to dinner. 

Her face softens and she smiles softly at him, “I don’t. What did you have in mind?”

As it turns out, the two find themselves back in Archie’s neighborhood. He takes her to Pop’s where they spend a decent amount of time sitting in a booth, just...talking. He doesn’t care whose daughter she is or how much she’s worth or how much influence she wields. 

He asks her things no one has ever asked her before. He wants to hear her opinions, her experiences, her hopes, her dreams. 

No one has ever shown this much interest about what she thinks, or cared enough to as her opinion on much of anything; least of all a guy. Usually, they talk about themselves and only talk about her if they think it’ll get them into her panties. 

“So, what do you think?” He throws his arms up and spins around in a circle, “pretty cool, huh?”

They’re strolling down the sidewalk side by side. Archie between her and the curb. Both of them carry their milkshakes in to-go cups. 

Veronica uses her tongue to pull her straw between her lips, not missing the way Archie’s eyes follow the movement. She slurps the last of the chocolate heaven through the straw and giggles.

“Of what? Of Brooklyn?”

He nods, finishing the rest of his shake and throwing them both in the trash. They continue walking down the street, Archie’s hands buried in his pockets while Veronica tucks hers together across her chest. 

“I think it’s charming. Quaint. Quiet. I can breathe here.” 

“I bet your life’s pretty loud.”

She sighs, “Most of the time, yes. There’s always something going on in Manhattan. Something that needs my attention or something that reminds me of my parents. Or my old life.” 

Archie is quiet once she finishes talking. And although he doesn’t say anything, Veronica feels like he understands. 

The lapse into silence and maybe it’s the fresh air or the blessed quiet or the heavy atmosphere her words conjured up, but Veronica doesn’t want to think about sad things anymore. She’s feeling bold and in need of a distraction, and Archie has been driving her crazy all day with his manners and his chivalry and his all-American charm. 

“So,” she starts, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk, hands clasped behind her back, “am I ever going to get my panties back, Archiekins?” 

The nickname comes to her naturally’ she doesn’t even think about it before she says it. It just rolls right off her tongue. She glances up at him through her eyelashes, waiting for his response. 

Archie searches her face. He licks his lips before he says, “Black lace, right?”

“Mhm. With a little satin bow on the front.”

He pretends to think about it, letting her linger a bit in the anticipation before he says, “I think they’re still somewhere in my bedsheets.”

_ Oh. _

Veronica's breath catches, and Archie notices. Just at that second, there's a crack of lightning and the rumble of thunder. It’s one of those crazy autumn rainstorms. The ones where everything comes on so suddenly. One minute it’s a nice day and the next it’s a downpour. So caught up in each other as they are, neither of them noticed the sky gradually darkening or the fat raindrops beginning to fall. 

It becomes them versus the rain as they sprint to the nearest building. Archie yells that he has a key to the Wyrm so Veronica follows him. He reaches back for her hand and they run through the rain and that makes her heart flutter.

She presses herself against his back as he jams the key into the lock and pushes the door open. They burst into the room, soaked to the bone and panting from the run. 

Archie notices how different the bar looks now. The only light comes from the passing cars outside; their headlights shining through the raindrops on the front windows and illuminating the room and Veronica in hazy, grey-blue light.

Her blazer is all askew, and the silk blouse below it is sodden; wholly soaked through. Her breathing hasn't calmed yet, so the rapid rise and fall of her breasts is only exacerbated by the drenched fabric. She's got mascara under her eyes, and her large careful curls from earlier are gone. Now her dark hair is hanging straight and limp down her back and around her face. Her lipstick has almost worn off, after wearing it all day, and eating dinner, and their sprint through the downpour outside.

The only sound is the pitter-patter of the rain, the crack of thunder, and their heavy breathing.

Archie feels like he's at the precipice of something great; like she could be what he's been looking for. He doesn't care about the consequences or the what-ifs. He only cares about kissing her right now at this moment.

Archie stares at her for a moment and then two, his eyes washing over every part of her before he moves. It feels like it takes an eternity for him to reach her but finally he does, sliding one calloused hand across her cheek to hold her small face in his palm and fisting the other in the back of her blazer, using his grip on the fabric to hold her close to him.

He can feel her stiffen against his chest, and he pulls back to ask her if he can kiss her with his eyes.

"Please."

And Archie is a goner. 

\---

“Please.”

Veronica hardly recognizes her own voice; it's so soft. It's barely a word at all really, more of an expulsion of air from her lungs that sounds like a plea.

But just like before, Archie seems to know what she needs without her having to tell him.

The way he kisses her is deep and smoldering; like he's thought of nothing but this since they last saw each other. She knows she certainly has. Her wet clothes are suffocating her where they cling to her equally wet skin, so she doesn't protest when Archie's hands push her blazer off her shoulders. It hits the floor with a smack, and her shirt isn't too far behind.

He breaks away from her mouth to help her get her bra off, unclasping it with one hand and pulling it down her arms. He leaves Veronica hanging, her eyes closed and her lips chasing after his.

Suddenly, Archie is lifting her, and she's jumping to help him, wrapping her legs around him as he holds her steady with his strong hands below her thighs.

He sets her down on the bar and Veronica shivers when the cold, smooth wood touches her legs. Her skirt has ridden up to expose her thighs and the lacy tops of her silk stockings.

"I've been thinking about having you again since the minute you walked out of that bathroom." The admission makes her moan, long and low as Archie kisses down her chest. He's still wearing his leather jacket and Henley and it's totally unacceptable to hide what she knows is a glorious body under so many clothes.

His leather joins her tweed on the floor, and then he's reaching behind himself, pulling his shirt up and over his head. He's barely free from the fabric when his lips latch onto her nipple, drawing the bud between his lips and sucking. Veronica keens and arches into his mouth, her head dropping back on her neck and her mouth falling open.

Through her lust induced haze, she catches a glimpse of the ink on his bicep. It's the Van Halen logo. Seeing his dedication to them right there on his body makes her smile. It’s also ridiculously sexy. The way the ink shifts with his veins and skin makes her hot. 

He's got something else inked onto his left pec, right above his heart, and Veronica desperately wants to know what it says.

_ Omnia Vincit Amor. _

With Archie's mouth around her nipple and his hands sliding up her legs and dragging her panties down, she can't recall what that means. She's consumed by him. She can't think. She can hardly breathe.

Veronica shuffles her thighs, lifting them just the tiniest bit so that he can get the cotton and lace down around her ankles before pulling them off and tucking them into the back pocket of his Levi's. It's so possessive yet so familiar that Veronica moans and that pleases Archie to no end. He helps her settle back against the bar, her raven-colored hair fanned around her head like a dark halo. She's well aware that she's panting and hasn't stopped this entire time. Archie's tongue on her inner thigh has her hands sliding into his hair and pulling, trying to bring him closer.

He's avoiding everywhere she wants him to be most, but it's exquisite torture.

“What do you want, Veronica?”

She squirms but answers him. 

“Your mouth.”

“What do you say?” 

Veronica closes her eyes and surrenders herself to the sensations. 

“Please, Archie.”

\---

“Please, Archie.”

That's what he needs to hear. He's so hard he feels like he might rip right through his jeans. The anticipation has been building the last few days and tasting her is all he's thought about.

She's warm and wet and so tight when he presses a finger inside of her, quickly adding another when she keens and arches off the bar top.

"Your mouth." She whimpers again, biting down on her index finger to hold back her moans.

"What was that, Veronica?" He loves this, how she's begging him to give her what she wants.

"Put your mouth on me, Archie." He pulls his fingers out and sucks them into his mouth, making sure she's watching him as he does it, “please put your mouth on me, Archie, I need it.”

With a smirk, Archie grabs her ankles and gently places them over her shoulders, making sure she's watching him as he licks up her center to her clit.

She had imagined what he could do with his mouth since she first saw it pressed against the rim of his beer bottle. She had imagined what he would do to her with that mouth with her hand between her thighs and her fingers around her nipple.

Now she knows, and it's more staggering than anything she imagined it would be. 

When he adds his fingers again, pressing them inside her and curling up, Veronica pulls his hair so hard she thinks she might actually rip it out. But Archie doesn't say anything. He just moves his tongue faster, holds her tighter, presses his fingers deeper.

"Oh God, Archie, please, please can I come?"

He looks up at her, hair all a mess and sticking to her sweaty forehead, breasts heaving, mascara smudged, and lipstick smeared.

She's wrecked, and he did that to her.

"Come for me, Veronica."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies! I'm a bit late with this update but I finally finished it just this morning. I've taken some much needed time off social media to deal with some personal stuff, but I've been writing on my semi-hiatus and hope to find a more consistent updating schedule for all of my work. 
> 
> The black lace panties make their triumphant return, and Archie steals yet another piece of expensive lingerie. And we have smut! Tbh, I wanted to try and drag it out for longer but my muse refused. It seems even in fic these two can't stay away from each other. 
> 
> I really like this chapter. We dive into Veronica's past and begin to explore her inner circle. I've hinted at one pairing, in particular, that is a new addition to this fic. There's a bit of dom!Archie right there at the end, and this chapter is really where we see the sexual dynamics that set the tone for the fic come out. I want to make it clear that despite having not talked about it yet, both Archie and Veronica are aware of the shift into a soft dom/sub relationship and are completely into it and consenting. And to my dom!Veronica lovers out there, good things come to those who wait ;-)
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments: your feedback is important to me!
> 
> xoxo Katiekins

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published via my old account, TheVoicelessRomantic, on 4-21-2019, this is my fic for the Varchie Ficathon that ran last April. You can find me on tumblr @monicasposh.


End file.
